


Home Again

by HannahKotoba



Category: Earth-12041 (Marvel), Guardians of the Galaxy (Cartoon), Marvel
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, During Canon, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 07:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17658413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahKotoba/pseuds/HannahKotoba
Summary: The day's activities on Titan had taken a toll on everyone involved. But for one of them, it wasn't quite over. Takes place directly after s3e05.





	Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> While I marked this as rated G because it's written at the same level as canon, there is still heavy mentions of Gamora's childhood trauma regarding how Thanos treated her and her siblings, so tread carefully.

“When we leave Titan, I'm never returning.” Gamora announced this to no one in particular before turning back towards the Milano’s entrance ramp. “That in mind, I have some business to attend to before we go.”

“Business? What kinda business?” Rocket hopped down from his perch, raising an eyebrow.

“The kind of business that's none of yours,” was Gamora's response, shooting him one of her usual icy glares. “I'll be gone a couple of hours at most. You can wait that long.” And with a tug of her hood, she was setting off.

Drax stepped down from the cockpit, watching her receding figure. “What business could Gamora possibly have on this planet?”

“I dunno, Drax, but I'm worried.” Peter watched her as well, hand to his chin. Gamora was… a bit of a loner in general, yes, but the day had been especially rough on her. Facing down Thanos on the planet he raised her on couldn't have been easy. “Hey, Rocket, you put trackers on pretty much everything, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Can you give me the tracker so I can follow her?”

“She's not gonna like that,” Rocket warned, though his tone sounded as if he wasn't too concerned, tossing Peter an electronic box.

“Probably not. But I'd rather she be mad at me for trying to help than leave her on her own. You guys can stay here, I'm gonna make sure she's okay.” And he rocketed off in pursuit.

* * *

He saw the building before anything else: a tall, imposing rectangle of concrete and no particular distinguishing features. “Guess Thanos wasn't a big architecture fan,” he remarked to himself, looking down at the tracker as he settled back to the ground. Gamora should be right here—

“HYAAH!”

And then, with a flash of green, there was a blade to his throat.

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” Peter stumbled backwards. Gamora's eyes met his, and her expression shifted from violent self-defense to her usual annoyance at him.

“Quill.” Gamora stashed her sword back in its sheath. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me?”

“Not if I like my head attached to my body?” Peter offered, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “Look, I was just… Making sure you're okay.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” came a bitter response that didn't sound fine in the slightest.

“Right… so, uh, what are you doing out here, anyways?”

“This was the facility where he raised us.” Gamora looked up at the concrete slab, currently positioned in just the right spot to block the sunlight. “I just… had to make sure it was empty.”

Peter pondered that for a second. Empty of what, exactly? What was she afraid of?

Gamora was already at the side of the box, running her hand across the featureless surface and leaving Peter to wonder where exactly the entrance was. She seemed to have no trouble finding it, however, as a panel popped out from the wall, accompanied by an old and crackled computerized voice.

“IDENTIFY YOURSELF.”

Gamora unraveled one of the wraps on her arms, lifting her wrist to the device. Both the panel and her arm glowed for a short second, and though Peter knew she was a cyborg, it still caught him off-guard to see a light from under her skin.

“IDENTITY CONFIRMED. WELCOME HOME, GA·MO·RA.”

The wall split in two, sliding open smoothly to reveal a hallway. Gamora shot Peter a look over her shoulder. “Come on. It won't stay open for long.”

Still somewhat dumbfounded, Peter simply nodded and followed her into the building.

“It's real dark in here,” he remarked after a bit of walking, putting his mask up. Gamora seemed to have no problem telling where she was going, but he couldn't see a thing without his helmet's flashlight. Plus, this place gave him the creeps.

“Shut up and help me look,” was Gamora's only response as they entered a large room. From what he could make out, it was some sort of… gym? All sorts of strange equipment lined the walls, and there was a large pool to one side that looked more of the exercise than the recreation kind, though at the moment it was too dry to do either.

As Gamora made her way across the room, Peter felt his way around the wall. Oh, thank the stars, a light switch. He flipped it, and the lights came on–

As did some other things. That was, deadly traps– spinning blades, swinging axes, spitting fire, the whole nine yards. And Gamora was in the center of it. “Gamora–!”

Gamora effortlessly climbed, slid, and triple-backflipped through the traps, as if she had done it a million times before. She landed smoothly just outside the boundaries of the death area, lingering for a moment that felt longer than it was before turning to Peter with murder in her eyes.

“I was just looking for a light switch!”

“Don't. Touch. Anything. I can't _believe_ I have to tell you that.”

“Right, right, got it.” Peter hurried over to her side, still working on picking his jaw up off the floor. “Still, that– that was totally awesome!”

“It was, wasn't it?” Gamora turned to the death arena. “Thanos used to have us run this obstacle course all the time. It's randomized, but you learn the patterns. No one ever beat my best time.” There was a spark in her eyes, an emotion Peter couldn't quite place.

And within an instant, it was gone. “We should keep moving,” she remarked emotionlessly, turning on her heel to the next hallway and leaving Peter scrambling to catch up.

At least now, the facility was lit. “Don't touch anything,” Gamora reminded him as they entered the next area, walls lined with shelf after shelf of unmarked jars. “Thanos kept as many poisons as he did antidotes.”

Peter looked around; the center of this room was a table with an uncomfortable amount of straps on it, surrounded by smaller rolling tables with all sorts of nasty-looking instruments. “The medbay?” he voiced, not really needing an answer.

Gamora nodded. “Half infirmary, half science lab. He cut us up as much as he put us back together.” There was a coldness to her voice as she continued her search.

“You know, I might be more help if you told me what we're looking for,” he remarked.

“Children.”

“Wait. What?”

Gamora sighed, putting a hand on her arm in the way she did when she was admitting something she didn't want to. “Thanos raised a lot of children here, not just me. I just… wanted to make sure he hadn't taken any more since I left.”

Peter felt his heart sink into his stomach. _That_ was why she was so insistent on coming here, to a place with such foul memories.

He swallowed thickly, trying to find the words. “Look, if there are any kids here, we'll help them. Get them off this planet, and to people who can help. Alright?”

Gamora nodded solemnly, not facing him.

An uncomfortable silence hung over the both of them. It drove Peter crazy; he needed to break this, now. “So, you ever get sent here?” Nope, inappropriate question, good going, prince foot in mouth—

“A few times. I remember once, before either of us had our main cybernetics, me and Nebula broke our arms at the same time fighting each other. The second we had our casts on, she tried to use hers to break my other arm.”

There was that look again, still just as implacable, still just as fleeting, as she quickly looked away. “This room is empty. Let's check the quarters. If anyone's hiding, it's there.”

“Right, lead the way,” Peter responded, just thankful he hadn't _completely_ screwed up yet.

Apparently the quarters were a long hallway with lots of doors. “I'll check this side of the hall, you check the other,” Gamora ordered.

Opening the first door, Peter couldn't help but feel the rooms seemed more like prison cells. Sure, these were actually beds, but the only furniture was the bed and a nightstand; there weren't even any windows. Even the bedsheets were a plain white, tucked in neatly with a thick layer of dust that suggested they hadn't been touched in years.

“It's still here,” came a breathless remark from down the hall.

Peter immediately abandoned his search of the exceptionally empty rooms to join Gamora. “What's– oh my– what is _that_?!” he sputtered at the sight of some horror-movie looking _thing_ on the nightstand.

Gamora picked it up calmly, giving him a strange look. “It's a baby doll, Quill. Or, it used to be,” she amended as she took a better look at it. “Guess I really did a number on it.”

“That was your doll…?” Peter's face softened.

“Thanos gave it to me the night after he abducted me. Maybe he thought it would smooth things over. I hated it. Used to cut it up to take out my frustrations.” That much was apparent; the doll was missing both eyes, and the body had been restitched together so much he could only make a guess at what it used to look like.

“One day I took all the stuffing out and filled it with rocks. Chucked it at Korath’s head. He had to get stitches.” Her face fell shortly after saying that. “Come to think of it, he never really was the same after that day.”

She set the former doll back down. “You checked all the other rooms?” Peter nodded quickly. “Then let's move on.”

* * *

The sun was setting by the time they finished their sweep of the building. “I'm glad it was empty. As fun as it would have been to watch you get beaten by a ten year old,” she teased.

Then, she looked out at the sunset, hand on her arm again. “...It's twisted, isn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“This place was full of horrible memories. The things Thanos did to me, to us, were terrible. I should hate this place– I _do_ hate this place. But… it still feels like _home_.”

And now he could place that look she'd been getting. A feeling he'd felt himself, returning to his old Ravager hideouts. A haunted, perverted sense of nostalgia.

Gamora sat on the ground, pulling her knees to her chest, and Peter mimicked the action. “Thanos is in custody. The nightmare is over. I should be _happy_. But...”

She sighed and shook her head. “He got to me today. I thought I was doing _better_ , but ten minutes and I was his _puppet_ again. You were all put at risk because of me.”

“We don't blame you for that,” Peter responded quickly. “Besides, it all worked out in the end, right?”

“This time. But what if I never get better? If I'm beyond fixing?” Gamora's throat sounded tight. “What if, under everything, I really am nothing but the daughter of Thanos?”

Peter hesitated for a moment before leaning over and putting an arm around her. “You're not. You're so much more.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know that because I know you.”

Gamora was trembling slightly, as if she was on the verge of emotional collapse. Remembering what happened the last time he pointed it out, Peter kept his mouth shut. If she needed to let it out, he'd be a shoulder to cry on.

Sure enough, after a moment, she leaned her head on his shoulder. It started out as silent tears, but quickly snowballed into full on ugly sobbing. He tried not to let his heart get stuck in his throat at the sight and sound of her, the ever strong and stoic Gamora, breaking down so completely, rubbing her arm in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

It took several long minutes for her to recompose herself, during which the sun continued to sink lower on the horizon. Once she settled back down, Gamora pulled away from the half-embrace, furiously wiping at her eyes. “If you tell anyone about this I'll kill you,” she threatened half-heartedly.

Peter just smiled, standing up. “Hey, my lips are sealed. We should probably get back to the Milano, though, before Rocket decides to leave without us.” Even knowing Gamora was fiercely independent, he held a hand out to help her up.

She took it.

* * *

“Where were you guys, anyways?!”

“I told you, I had personal business.” Gamora's voice was as cold as ever.

“Well, I hope ya wrapped it up, 'cause we're getting off this rock.” Rocket hopped up into his seat, and the rest of the Guardians followed suit, Peter and Gamora in their usual spots at the front.

“Rocket’s right. Come on, guys, Knowhere awaits.” Peter set the nav, giving one last glance over to Gamora.

Gamora nodded, the slightest smile on her face. “Yeah. Let's go home.”

Her face said she was already there.

**Author's Note:**

> So according to Google Docs, I actually finished this fic six months ago? I just never got around to posting it because I wasn't really posting fic around that time. I know there's not much audience for 12041 fic, but if I have to fill that niche entirely myself, so be it. You'll pry platonic best friends Quill and Gamora supporting each other out of my cold dead hands, and I'll write for the MCU when they start treating Gamora a fraction as well as this low-budget cartoon does.
> 
> To whoever went in and read this, thanks! You're the real MVP. *thumbs up*


End file.
